OCR Text |
Show CAUGHT. Saturday night we caught the Tribune on a statement it made regarding the piace where Phil Robinson lodged while here, and yesterday morning the Tribune rose in its wrath and "went for" the Democrat. It shifts the responsibility for its statement on to Robinson himself, and as Robinson is not here it is impossible impos-sible to disprove what no one believes. But why should the lofty soul who pens the editorials for the Tribune be so angered when he says that if he was mistaken he is glad to be 'corrected? He is like the Archbishop in Gil Bias, to compare small things to great, when he desired to have a just criticism upon his sermon, but when poor Gil had the temerity to suggest that there might be an improvement improve-ment by leaving out something here or changing something there, the decrepit Archbishop flew into a passion and declared de-clared that the sermon was the best he had ever composed. So it is with the Miriam-singing editor of the Tribune-he Tribune-he thinks his editorial of Saturday the best he ever composed in his life. Well, he is not to be blamed for this, as every crow thinks it3own chick the whitest. If Robinson is such a scoundrel, such "an unscrupulous English Bohemian, that he contracted with an American scoundrel to write up the beauties of Mormonism for money," it may be that he contracted the disease the only time he "ever showed up" in the Tribune office. Says the Tribune: - ""We were fooled once into miblishing the belief that the editor of the Democbat was a bright man." We've got the best of you there, for we were never for one moment, not even a little, tiny bit of a moment, fooled even into thinking the editor of the Tribune was a bright man. Yes, you are right when you say "we are convinced now that sixty dayB in jail would be light punishment for such an offense as that."-Make that."-Make the period sixty years and change the place from a jail to a lunatic asylum, and we will sign your petition. In conclusion we would say, "Don't let your angry passions rise, your little hands were never made to scratch each other's eyes.'.' - |